Me and Thee
by Nenya Kanadka
Summary: Michael wasn't sure what it was that brought him out of a sound sleep at three o'clock in the morning. (Post-canon.) Written for Fandom Stocking 2012.


"Garibaldi and Sinclair were the Starsky and Hutch of space, until Sinclair departed for points Minbari and Sheridan showed up and Garibaldi got a lot less gay." -iamsab at Crack Van

For Mucca, because there should always be more hugging.

* * *

Michael wasn't sure what it was that brought him out of a sound sleep at three o'clock in the morning. He lay in the dark next to Lise, listening for some noise, eyes peeled for some small movement. Nothing.

He could still feel it-there was something off, and staring at the ceiling wasn't going to fix it. He sat up, slowly, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. What-?

Lise slept on, undisturbed, but Michael had never ignored a hunch like this in his life and he wasn't about to start now. He cinched his robe around his waist and went to check the house. Every door, window, latch, vent, security keypad-not for nothing had he been head of security on a space station for five years. He stopped at the door to Mary's bedroom for several long moments and watched his baby daughter curled peacefully around her favourite purple teddy bear. Then he went back and checked everything again.

Finally he let himself out onto the balcony outside the living room, sealing the door behind him. He leaned on the metal railing, taking a long deep breath of the recycled Marsdome air, and watched the lights of the city sparkle beneath him in the night like some computer-generated false-colour simulation of a starfield.

All right, so he was paranoid. Go ahead, sue him. It wasn't like he hadn't spent a good decade of his life with someone out to kill him, even before he'd become CEO of a multiplanetary corp. Hell, they'd used to pay him to be paranoid. "Stood me in damn good stead, too," he muttered.

"You always talk to yourself these days, Mike?"

The low voice made him start, and he whirled. He was too smart to keep a PPG under his pillow, especially now that there was a child in the house, but it didn't make him feel any less naked without one. He clenched his fist on empty air as a tall hooded figure melted out of the dark to stand beside him. "What the hell do _you_ want?" he growled.

"That's a dangerous question." The man sounded amused. He pulled back his hood, and the light from a passing aircar caught the pale arches of a Minbari Religious caste crest. Garibaldi stiffened. "Still wondering if I'm friend or foe?"

Something about the voice-

_"Jeff?!" _

His companion chuckled. "Got it in one, old friend."

"Fuck you, you scared the shit out of me. Jesus." It was not, on reflection, what he'd planned to say if he ever saw Jeff Sinclair again. He stared at the man, squinting, trying to make the beloved face of his best friend line up with this half-shadowed alien visage. The voice, though. The voice was the same. A little rougher and richer with age, but Michael had dreamed of that voice for a good six years now.

"I'm sorry. I needed to see you privately, Mike."

"You're sorry? _You're_ sorry?" He didn't know whether to hug the man or punch him, and if this turned out to be some hallucination he might as well tell it what he thought. "Jeff, you fucking left me behind. Do you have any idea-"

"I didn't have a choice. You would have died." Jeff sounded tired, like he'd recited the platitude over and over to himself through many long sleepless nights.

_You could have said goodbye to my face,_ Michael thought, but he said, "How long has it been for you? Hell, _is_ this you?" He couldn't take his eyes off the tall Minbari figure with Jeff's voice. His heart squeezed tight in his chest, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I'm Valen, yes. Or I was, for forty cycles. I'm here, now, because I'm needed. I'll need another name." A self-deprecating smile and a long sigh. "Oh, hell, Mike. I missed you."

"Damn, you're an old man," Garibaldi heard himself say. Then, "If I cry on your shirt when I hug you I'm denying it to everyone, all right?" And then he was wrapped in his best friend's arms, and Valen hugged the same as Jeff ever had, no less strong for the intervening years. He held on till his arms started to hurt and Jeff's robes chafed his face.

He leaned back against the balcony railing to catch his breath. "What are you even doing here? I thought it was a one-way trip. Weren't you supposed to, I don't know, fight the Shadows, get famous, get canonized by the Minbari?"

Jeff snorted, and leaned up beside him, bumping shoulders. The body language was relaxed, self-assured, and just a little alien. _He's been a Ranger longer than he was ever Earthforce, now._ "I was. And I did. I'm not yet sure why I'm needed here now, I just know I am. Maybe the Drakh plague, maybe something else."

"You heard about that?"

"Yes." His voice turned sober. "I hadn't realized how human I still am, on the inside, until I had to face the thought of Earth being destroyed. Again."

"We'll find an answer. We've got to. They've got ships out there, looking for something. I've invested in labs here on Mars, chasing down every possible lead. Delenn's got her Rangers on it-or, what, your Rangers now?"

Jeff shook his head. "No. I'm not here to take up that mantle again. But I do need to see her and John. I'll need to book passage for Minbar very soon."

"I can get you a ship, anywhere you need to go, just say the word. Just-" Michael chewed his lip. "Just don't go haring off without telling me, this time. That about killed me, y'know?"

Jeff squeezed his shoulder. He had the same golden eyes. "I promise."

Michael crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You got time? Stay the night or something, come inside and talk like a reasonable person?" At Jeff's raised brow, he smirked. "Some of us would rather stop freezing our asses off than stand around playing ninja."

"It's the ancient art of _vas'hana'tha_ and-yes. I have time." Sinclair pushed off the railing and smiled as bright as the sun. "I've got all the time in the world."


End file.
